


West of Westeros

by bestpillowtalkever



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Game of Thrones AU, GoT typical violence, Slow burn but it’s 5 chapters so I guess not that slow, a couple of virgins, but without the rape, commoner Jughead, oh no the castle is under siege and we have to escape on a romantic adventure, royal Betty, soft Jughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestpillowtalkever/pseuds/bestpillowtalkever
Summary: Whereas they usually couldn’t hear a thing from the dungeons, the fighting above has grown so close that she begins to make out the sound of cannonballs raining down on the castle. There are two guards stationed at the doors of the room, tasked with protecting the life of the princess and sole heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros.A loud blast above them finally causes him to glance up towards the ceiling. “If it comes to that, you run.”“Where?” she asks, as fear starts to grip her for the first time.“West,” he tells her. As if that’s a perfectly reasonable direction to go.OR: When castle is under siege, Jughead helps Betty to escape.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 26
Kudos: 51
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	West of Westeros

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this idea that popped into my head after watching the first episode of The Witcher.
> 
> It’s actually a Game of Thrones AU, but you don’t need to have watched it to get the story. I’m just stealing the setting and some various plot points, but most of it is made up. It won’t spoil anything for you if you haven’t seen it yet. 
> 
> On the show they have British accents and that’s how I imagine them speaking as I write it. So, please, do yourself a favor and imagine them speaking in (very attractive) British accents. 
> 
> No, I know how to spell the word “sir” it’s just a quirky GoT thing that they spell it “ser”. 
> 
> Also, my other WIP is in past tense and this one is in present. Every time I read through this I find another spot where I’ve accidentally slipped into past tense. If you find one, rest assured that I am sorry and ashamed.
> 
> For those who have seen the show, I was originally thinking of Arya/Hound vibes, but ended up with Daenerys/Jorah vibes because I am literally incapable of writing Jughead anything but Super Soft for Betty. 
> 
> Anyway, here it is.

“What’s going on? Why haven’t we heard anything?” Betty asks as she paces the stone floor of the dungeon. “I hate being trapped down here. Why couldn’t you guard me up in my bedchamber?”

“Because your bedchamber is in a tower, my lady. You would be effectively trapped if the unthinkable happens,” Ser Thomas Keller tells her from his seat by the hearth. 

“And what, may I ask, is the plan if the unthinkable  _ were _ to happen?” Betty says with more defiance than she typically shows anyone but her mother. 

Whereas they usually couldn’t hear a thing from the dungeons, the fighting above has grown so close that she begins to make out the sound of cannonballs raining down on the castle. If Ser Thomas is concerned, he doesn’t show it. There are two other guards stationed at the doors of the room, tasked with protecting the life of the princess and sole heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros. 

A loud blast above them finally causes him to glance up towards the ceiling. “If it comes to that, you  _ run. _ ”

“Where?” she asks, as fear starts to grip her for the first time. 

“West,” he tells her. As if that’s a perfectly reasonable direction to go.

**

They’re getting closer. No one will say it. Not to her. But, she knows it to be true. 

Never in her wildest imagination did she dream this day would come. King’s Landing hadn’t fallen to invaders for generations. Stories of horror and bloodshed in the capital had only ever been stories.

Yet, here she was, backing farther away from the door as her guards moved towards it. 

Ser Thomas approached her and presented her with a large knife. “Should the unthinkable happen,” he explained as she took it from him. It wasn’t a sword, but it was better than nothing.

She’d been trained against her mother’s wishes. She didn’t mind the feminine arts of sewing and needlework, but it was sparring that came to be her favorite pastime. Her father had hired a swordsman from Braavos to tutor her in the art of combat. It gave her a feeling of power in a life where no choice was her own. 

Now that she feels the weight of the handle in her hand, the sharp blade reflecting the light of the dying fire, her feelings of dread begin to wane. She is no wilting flower. She is Elizabeth Cooper of House Targaryen, descended from dozens of generations of kings, queens, and warriors. 

Defending the realm is what she was born to do. 

**

The thick wood of the door finally begins to crack as someone pounds on the other side. She can hear footsteps and shouts of soldiers in the hall. 

“It’s time,” Ser Thomas tells her, grabbing her arm as well as a large bag by the door.

“No,” she says, pulling away. “I must stay and fight.”

“We must get you to safety, Your Highness,” he says urgently, looking back at the cracking door. “The Claytons will do worse than kill you. It’s time to go.”

“Am I not the heir to the throne? Am I not to rule?” she asks heatedly. “If the army is knocking at our door, is it not likely that my mother has already fallen?”

“All the more reason to get you to safety!” he says, trying to grab her once more.

She flies back. “How can I rule a land that I run from? How can I be queen if I do nothing to defend my people? No. I must stay and fight,” she says with more surety than she feels. 

At that moment, the door falls as soldiers rush in. 

Ser Thomas draws his sword, taking a defensive stance in front of her. Two soldiers approach him and he is able to hold them off skillfully. She looks around the room to see her other guards also fighting the invaders. She is frozen in a moment of panic. No amount of practice could have prepared her for the moment she’d actually be fighting for her life. 

As Ser Thomas begins to lose the upper hand, one of the soldiers comes around in an attempt to grab her. He doesn’t notice the knife in her hand, which gives her the opportunity to slice his arm. It’s not a severe wound, but it is the only place she could reach that wasn’t covered with armor.

“You little bitch!” the man growls as he tightly grabs her by the arm and wrenches the knife from her hand. “I’d kill you now if my orders weren’t to bring you back alive. But, don’t you worry, Lord Clayton will have his fun with you.”

A chill runs down her spine as she prays to the Gods that the rumors of Lord Clayton’s depravity have been greatly exaggerated. 

The soldier holds her tightly against him as she tries to wriggle free of his grasp. “Let me go!” she shouts futilely. 

He draws his sword across her shoulder and she cries out from the searing pain. “Fair is fair, my love,” he says in her ear.

It is then that she helplessly looks on as Ser Thomas is slain by his combatant with a fatal blow to the throat.

“No!” she yells out in agony. She’d known him since she was a child. She’d grown up with his son. And it was entirely her fault that he was now dead at her feet. All because of her stubborn refusal to flee. 

“Your mother’s already dead, you know,” the man growls. “And soon you’ll wish you were, too.”

She renews her efforts to break free of the his hold when he suddenly falls to the floor. Before she can figure out what happened, she’s being lifted in the air and thrown over someone’s shoulder.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” she screams as she starts kicking her feet and punching the man’s back. 

He carries her through the back door and shuts it behind them, immediately setting her down. She realizes it’s one of the guards that had been in her room. 

“We must go,” he says grabbing her hand and running down the hall. They take a few turns and end up in a small room she’d never seen before. 

She stands, out of breath and gripping a stitch in her side as he leans down to move a stone in the floor. She sees nothing but darkness below. 

“You go down first, then move out of the way. The drop is only a few feet. I want to try to move this stone back before I follow.” He’s also breathing heavily as he pushes a sweaty lock of dark hair from his forehead. 

“What’s down there? Where are you taking me?” she asks, unsure whether to trust this relative stranger.

“Does it really matter?” he asks with more attitude than is typical of lowborn castle attendants. She always appreciates people who don’t give her special treatment.

She takes a deep breath, glancing back in the direction from which they came. “I suppose not,” she agrees as she lowers herself down. 

**

It turns out there really are tunnels beneath the Red Keep that can be used as escape routes. She’d heard of their existence, but it’s her first time actually using one. 

They begin to see bright light from the impending sunset over the harbor, where the tunnel lets out.

“Okay, let’s sit for a moment,” her companion suggests. 

She doesn’t respond, giving him an answer in the form of collapsing against the stone wall. They sit across from each other for a while as their breathing slows. He pulls two flasks of water from the bag he’d been carrying on his back, passing one over to her.

“Do you think we’re safe?” she asks. They hadn’t heard anyone following them, but she doesn’t know what awaits outside of the tunnel.

“Not even close,” he sighs. 

She’d been ignoring the burning pain in her shoulder as they ran. The sleeve and bodice of her pale blue gown are soaked with blood and she can hardly move her arm. She tries to inspect the wound, but it’s difficult to tell how deep or severe it is.

“You’re hurt,” he states, apparently noticing for the first time. He looks her over and seems upset by the state she’s in.

“I’m fine,” she says, though she’s not sure that she is. She’s never been injured so severely and usually saw the royal maester to expertly tend to her wounds.

“You’re not,” he responds, apparently reading her mind. He shifts over to her side of the narrow tunnel to sit beside her.

“I learned some basic medicinal skills during my time serving in your navy. Would you mind if I have a look?” he asks, taking a softer tone. 

“Yes, you may. Here, let me-“ She tries to pull down her torn sleeve, but her dress is too fitted to allow it. “Would you mind loosening this a bit?” she asks, gesturing to the back of her dress and trying to suppress a blush. Such a request would be wildly inappropriate in any situation that were not as dire as this one. 

He nods with his face aflame, daring not look in her eyes as he reaches down to untie the ribbon lacing of her bodice. 

“You seem to know your way around a dress,” she can’t help but comment. 

“I have a sister,” he says flatly in response. 

He moves his hands back up to her sleeve, now able to slip it off her shoulder. It feels terribly intimate as her eyes snap to his. They are bright and blue and she realizes it’s really her first time looking at him. He has dark hair and a beautiful face and suddenly her cheeks are as red as his.

Although she’s almost seventeen, she’d never had any particularly romantic experiences. She was under constant supervision and would never be given the opportunity to see anyone outside of the formal courting process of her future arranged marriage. 

She hisses as he moves her arm to pull it through her sleeve. 

“I’m so sorry, m’lady,” he says, sounding genuinely contrite for causing her pain.

“It’s okay,” she tells him. She uses her opposite hand to hold the front of her dress up, lest she truly disregard all sense of propriety.

“I’m just going to wash this off,” he tells her, pouring some of his water over shoulder. She tries to resist crying out in pain. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“You needn’t be. You’re not the one who cut me. I’m fact, I really have no one to blame but myself,” she says with a humorless laugh. “If I would have just fled with Ser Thomas, he’d still be alive and I wouldn’t be hurt. Instead, I thought I could personally fight off an entire army with my very limited training and overinflated sense of self-confidence.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she tries to wipe them away with her good hand.

“You mustn’t blame yourself, m’lady. You’ve shown true bravery and your intentions were noble. No amount of training could have prepared you for the reality of combat,” he tells her kindly as he pulls a sack of healing instruments from the bag. “Ser Thomas knew the risks of his position. I’m sure it was his greatest honor to die in your protection.”

He threads a needle, much like she’d done countless times for her embroidery. “I’m going to have to stitch your shoulder. I’ll do it as neatly as possible, but I can’t promise that I won’t leave a scar.”

“That’s alright,” she says nodding. Tears continue to stream down her face as she thinks of everything and everyone that she’d possibly lost forever.

“My mother’s dead, you know. That soldier told me,” she tells him.

“I heard. And, I’m sorry. Your pain must be unimaginable,” he says softly.

“After losing my father and sister last year, I’m feeling oddly immune to despair this time around. Maybe I’m still in shock. Maybe I just loved her less,” she says. “Is that a terrible thing to say of the dead?”

“You feel how you feel. Saying it aloud doesn’t change anything. I promise I won’t tell anyone,” he says with the hint of a smile. 

“I just wish that no one had to die for me,” she continues. “It shouldn’t be an honor. Who am I that my life is worth that much? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m  _ fleeing.  _ I don’t deserve the throne.”

“I’d argue that your modesty and self-awareness alone make you more fit than most anyone else. Here, drink this,” he says, handing her a smaller flask than the ones they’d been drinking water from. 

“What is it?” she asks before taking a whiff. 

“Trust me. You’ll want it,” he says. 

He waits until she’s taken a swig before piercing her skin with the needle.

**

Her pain has subsided to a dull throb and she’s feeling oddly satisfied. It seems right to be inflicted with physical pain. She deserves it. She deserves to bear a scar that will always serve as a reminder of the consequences of her rashness and immaturity. 

“We need to start discussing a plan.” He’s wrapping a bandage around her shoulder and her eyes are finally starting to dry. Perhaps she’s run out of tears. 

“What’s your name?” she asks instead of responding to his statement. 

“Just call me Jughead,” he tells her after a brief pause, seeming embarrassed.

“Alright, I can do that,” she agrees without questioning his choice of nickname. “You can call me Betty if you’d like.”

“Okay,” he says with a smile as if he finds that funny.

“What? I didn’t laugh at your nickname!” she says taking a little offense.

“No!” he says looking horrified. “I’m not laughing at your name I just… I suppose it was funny to me that you think I’d be so informal as to address you in such a way. No offense meant, m’lady.”

“What if I want you to address me informally? What if I want you to treat me as if I’m any other girl?” she asks. She has no idea what kind of journey they are about to embark on together, but she’s ready to experience life outside the castle. Outside of her title. Outside of her life where she has absolutely no freedom. 

“Well, I suppose if that is Your Highness’ command, then I have no choice but to comply,” he says with a smirk. 

She laughs at his obstinance. “Okay, so what is our plan? Surely we can’t live in this tunnel?”

“No. We need to get you far from here as quickly as possible,” he says seriously. 

“West?” she asks hopefully.

“West,” he confirms with a nod.

Allegedly no one knows what is west of Westeros. No maps she’d studied extended that far. She supposes it would be a logical place to hide, given that it is the one place no one would think to look. 

“And, how do you plan on getting us there? How will you know where to take us? What if beyond the sea, there is just more… sea?” As excited as she is at the prospect of venturing into the unknown, she feels an inkling of anxiety as she thinks of what dangers and hardships they may encounter. 

“We’ll take a boat to get there. Ser Thomas has one waiting for us here in the harbor,” he explains. 

“And the ship’s captain is prepared for our arrival?” she asks. 

He smiles and says, “You’re looking at the ship’s captain. Although, I must say that calling it a ship is a bit generous. It will be large enough for our needs.”

“Oh. It’s just the two of us, then?” she asks, trying to sound unaffected. The idea of spending days at sea in close quarters with this attractive young man is kind of…exciting. 

“I’m sorry, m’lady. I’ll try to be an amicable companion, but I can’t make any promises,” he tells her. 

“No! It’s not a problem,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I was just surprised is all.”

“I may be young, but I swear to you that I will keep you safe,” he says with total surety. 

“I trust you,” she tells him honestly. 

“Good,” he says with a nod. “Now, I have some men’s clothes I need you to put on.”

“What?!” she exclaims in shock. 

“Listen,” he says in a tone that suggests he’d anticipated her response. “Lord Clayton wants you. If he takes you as his bride, he secures your right to the Iron Throne. Even though we’re in the most remote harbor of King's Landing, we still run the risk of being stopped and searched. If they are looking for a young woman and only find young men, they’re more likely to move on without giving us any trouble.”

She nodded, recognizing that this was a reasonable plan. 

“I need to change out of my uniform as well,” he says as he looks through his bag and pulls out clothes. “Take this. I’ll turn around and we can both change. Just let me know when you’re done.”

He turns and begins to remove his clothes, so she quickly turns the other way. Her dress is easy enough to get off, since he’d already loosened the back and pulled the sleeve off her injured arm.

She pulls the pants on, which are closely fitted to her skin. Ser Thomas must have used her measurements to have the clothing made in her size. She wishes that she were able to thank him for the painstaking preparations he had undertaken to ensure her safety. 

The next layer she needs to take off is a bit trickier. Her corset is over her slip, so she’ll need to remove both. She’d always had a lady’s maid to help her in and out of her many layers and she’s honestly unsure if she’ll be able to extricate herself from her clothing alone. 

She reaches her arms behind her back, untying the knot at the bottom of the corset. The lacing is pulled so very tight, she tries to work her way up, loosening it at each loop. She can really only use her left arm, making the task impossible the farther up she goes.

“Are you dressed?” he asks from behind her.

“No! No. Don’t turn around yet,” she says quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’d forgotten how much more complicated ladies’ clothing is,” he says.

“It’s just… I don’t think I’ll be able to do it with one hand,” she says awkwardly.

“What… what can’t you do?” he asks, clearly also feeling uncomfortable.

“I can’t unlace my corset,” she tries to say with confidence, as though this isn’t one of the most terribly embarrassing situations she’s ever been in. “I need to take it off, so that I can get the slip off that’s underneath. Then, I need to put it back on tightly enough to hide my… figure. It’s hard enough to do on your own, I doubt I’ll be able to manage with one hand.”

“Well, if you want me to, I could… I know it’s highly improper, but I wouldn’t mind… I could help you, if you-“

“Yes,” she says, cutting off his rambling. “Please just help me.”

He turns and immediately gets to work. Starting at the bottom, he pulls the strings out completely, so that she won’t have to try to put her arm up to lift it over her head. He works much more slowly and gently than her lady’s maid. 

Once he’s finished, he turns and steps away as she pulls the corset away from her body and removes her slip. She puts the corset back against her now bare chest. 

“You can lace it back up again,” she tells him. 

She can hear him slowly turn, but he doesn’t make a move to come towards her.

“What?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.

“Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat and walking up to her. 

He looks as if he’s seen a ghost and she imagines she’s given him quite the view. Her fitted pants reveal the shape of her body which is typically kept hidden under her voluminous skirts. The open back of her corset displays the expanse of skin on her back. She’s never felt more physically exposed before in her life.

“I’m so sorry,” he says to her as he gets to work lacing her corset back up again.

“What for?” she asks.

“I’m just… I’m sorry. You should have a lady’s maid with you. Or… anyone other than  _ me.  _ I’m no one and here I am… You’re the _ Queen  _ for fu-, for heaven’s sake. I shouldn’t be…” he doesn’t seem to know how to finish his sentence. 

“It’s okay, Jughead. I’d be worse than dead were it not for you. I’ll never be able to repay you for saving me,” she tells him. 

“Well, I haven’t quite saved you yet, m’lady. Let us hold our praises until we get you out of King’s Landing, shall we?”

She laughs and agrees. “Alright.”

After he finishes lacing her up again, he helps her slip her injured arm through the men’s shirt sleeve. She tucks the shirt into her pants and turns to face him. 

“How do I look? Quite manly?” she asks.

He looks her over and swallows. “Put the tunic on,” he commands. 

He helps her put it on over her shirt. It is a thick leather garment that falls halfway to her knees. 

“Better,” he says approvingly. 

After hiding her hair in a hat and assisting her in putting on a cloak, he declares that it’s the best they’ll be able to do. 

**

Night has fallen by the time they finally make their way out of the tunnel. Betty is grateful that they’d been so thorough with her disguise, as they’re stopped before they even make it to the dock. 

“Ho! What are you lads doing here this time of night?” It’s one of Clayton’s men. He’s lanky with a scraggly beard, swaggering over to them with a cocky smirk.

“Going night fishing. Our equipment is already loaded in our boat over there,” Jughead explains, gesturing to one of the few boats in this part of the harbor. 

“This ain’t a fishermen’s port,” he says, looking skeptical.

“We’re not fishermen by trade. Just like to go out from time to time,” Jughead says with confidence. 

“Is that so? Well, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I come inspect the boat? Make sure your story checks out and all,” the man says, crossing his arms. 

“By all means,” Jughead tells him, leading him over. Betty walks behind the man, hoping that he won’t take much notice of her.

They climb aboard the boat and the man starts poking around. “These are pretty nice fishing poles, lad,” he comments. “In fact, none of these here nets look like they ever been used before.”

A moment later, Jughead comes up behind him and slits his throat. He catches him as he falls and dumps him into the water over the side of the boat. 

Betty tries to arrange her face to look unaffected by this occurrence. She’s still getting used to watching men be slaughtered, particularly at such unexpected moments. But, she doesn’t want her companion to think her dainty or fragile. 

“Okay, we need to get out of here,” he says, mostly to himself, as he starts untying the ropes that hold the boat to the dock.

“What can I do?” she asks, wanting to help.

“It’s alright, I’ve got it,” he says as he begins to pull up the sails. 

She wishes that she knew how to assist him, but she’d never been trained in the art of sailing. 

“Actually, why don’t you go down in the cabin?,” he continues. “I’m not sure what’s down there, but Ser Thomas said it would be prepared for our journey. I’d feel better keeping you out of sight until we’re at sea.” He rushes around the boat, pulling and tying ropes, then finally begins to steer them away from the dock.

She takes one last look towards the shore. Towards the only home she’s ever known. Of course she’d traveled and visited lands throughout Westeros, but her heart was always in King’s Landing. 

She thinks of the people she’s leaving behind. Her mother, killed defending the Red Keep. Hopefully those who survived have pledged their fealty rather than suffer at the hand of Lord Clayton. For the first time, she’s grateful that her father and sister are already dead of influenza. At least they didn’t have to live to see this day.

She makes a silent pledge to return. She is Elizabeth Cooper of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Her family has ruled these lands for centuries. It is her birthright. These are her people.

She doesn’t know how or when, but she will be back to claim what is hers.

**

It’s her nausea that wakes her up. She sits bolt upright, which sends a searing pain through her shoulder. Memories flood back as she looks around the small room that makes up the cabin of the boat. 

She’d collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep soon after coming below deck without ever inspecting the contents of the room. 

There are several large trunks stacked against a wall. She goes over to open the top one and finds that it is filled to the brim with bars of gold. She goes over to the wardrobe, which is stuffed with both men’s and women’s clothes. Unlike her usual finery, these are simple dresses that would be much less noticeable in a crowd. 

She is overcome with another wave of nausea as she makes her way to the steps in search of fresh air. The boat rocks and she grips the railing to keep her balance. Stumbling up through the door, she rushes over to the side of the ship to empty the contents of her stomach into the sea below. 

A moment later, Jughead is by her side. “Are you alright m’lady?” he asks, sounding concerned. 

“I’ll be fine,” she tells him. “Just not quite as used to the motion of the sea as you are.”

“Here, drink this,” he says, handing her water. 

“Shouldn’t we be rationing our water supply?” she asks. 

“Ser Thomas has ensured that we’ll have enough to drink for the duration of our journey,” he says.

She still has many questions to ask, but doesn’t feel that she’s in the right state of mind for that discussion yet. So, she nods and takes the water from him. 

“How long did I sleep for?” she asks. 

“Most of the night. Sun will start coming up any minute, now,” he tells her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she quickly apologizes. “You should have woken me so that you could get some sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her as he returns to his place at the wheel. “We’ve made it a good distance, but I’d like to get a little farther before I rest.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done. It seems as though we were provided with gold in the trunks below deck, and I consider it yours as much as it is mine. When I do reclaim the Iron Throne, I can assure you that you will want for nothing.”

“That is completely unnecessary. I act out of loyalty to the Crown, not because I expect any kind of reward,” he tells her, sounding like he’s taken offense.

“I  _ know _ you do. Which is why you’ll be rewarded handsomely, whether you like it or not. Do you have a family, or… anyone that you need to support?” She’s trying not to sound as if she’s prying into his personal life, though it is her exact intention. 

“I do,” he says simply. 

“You mean you’ve left a wife and children behind?” she asks. She’d hate the idea of taking him away from his family, especially with the Claytons now ruling Westeros. A selfish part of her is hoping that he’s a single man, though it is ultimately inconsequential. She will not be afforded the luxury of marrying for love. 

He laughs as he answers, “ _ No _ . Though, I must say I am flattered by the assumption.”

“Why’s that?” she asks, confused as to why he’d think the notion to be ridiculous. 

“I am but a poor palace guard, m’lady. The only reason I’ve got that position is due to Ser Thomas’s kindness after I’d served under him in your navy. I haven’t the means nor the desire to support a family. Any money I can spare is sent to my mother and sister in Winterfell,” he explains.

“Well, that is most unfortunate. I will ensure that your mother and sister have sufficient for their needs and also that you are given a position that allows you to support a family of your own,” she tells him.

“Is this theoretical position contingent on my starting a family, or am I allowed to spend the money as I please?” he asks with a sly smile. 

“After all you’ve done? You may lay waste to your money in brothels and gambling halls if that is your desire.”

He barks a laugh with eyes alight, seemingly surprised by her comment. “I can assure you that’s  _ not  _ my desire, but I’ll bear that in mind.”

“How old are you?” she asks curiously.

“How old do you think I am?” he responds. 

“Hm… twenty five?” she guesses. 

“Twenty.”

“Twenty? And you’ve already served in the navy?” While his face is youthful, he has the weathered look of someone who’s endured hardship.

“I joined at fifteen to earn money for my family. I served till I was nineteen, when Ser Thomas was appointed to the Kingsguard and invited me to come to the castle with him,” he tells her. 

“You’ve been a guard in the castle for a year? How haven’t I seen you before?” she asks.

“You have,” he tells her, looking as though he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“I’m sure I haven’t,” she says with conviction. ”You must not stand guard in my part of the castle often. I would certainly remember you”

“I see you almost every day, m’lady,” now smiling unbidden. 

“ _ No, _ ” she asserts. 

“Truly, I do. Yesterday, I was standing guard as you read in the garden. The day before, I was guarding the small council meeting your mother had you sit in. The day before that-“

“Okay, I concede! I concede,” she says. “I just… I feel…”

“Don’t.” He says definitively. “Don’t feel bad. I’m glad that you hadn’t noticed me. It means I’m doing my job properly.”

She nods in response, wondering how she could have overlooked this attractive young man for so long. 

She looks out over the water as the sun rises. They’re far enough out to sea that she can’t see land in any direction. 

“How do you know which way to go?” she asks.

“I use my compass by day and navigate by the stars at night,” he tells her.

“That’s remarkable,” she tells him. “I’d love for you to show me how you do that after nightfall. Did you learn that in the navy?”

“My father taught me when I was a boy,” he says.

“I thought you said you’re from Winterfell? That’s quite far inland,” she says.

“I moved to Winterfell with my mother and sister when I was eleven. Before then, I lived… somewhere else,” he tells her in a way that suggests he’d rather not answer any more questions on the subject.

“Well, I’m starved,” she says to change topic. “Shall I go down and see what food has been provided?”

“Now  _ that  _ is a fine idea,” he says sounding pleased. 

**

After eating a small breakfast of dried meat and preserved fruit, Jughead requests to take a look at her shoulder. 

He follows her down into the cabin, helping her remove her shirt and tunic, so that she’s left only in her corset and pants. She sits on the bed, holding the sheet to her body to provide some semblance of modesty. 

The wound looks a little too red and swollen for his liking. After cleaning it and wrapping it with fresh bandages, he finds her a clean men’s shirt in the wardrobe to change into. He says it won’t irritate the wound as much as stiff, fitted dress sleeves.

She doesn’t mind the idea, as men’s clothing is much more functional. It gives her a sense of freedom, feeling like an adventurer from a book rather than a princess kept locked away in a tower.

Jughead looks exhausted, so she encourages him to get some sleep. He shows her how to use the compass to keep the boat on course before retiring to the cabin below. 

Left alone, she has nothing to do but ponder as she looks over the sea. It’s exhilarating and beautiful to be sailing a boat on the open ocean, an experience she never thought she’d be able to have. But her joy brings her guilt, as she thinks of the horrifying circumstances that have caused her to embark on this journey. 

At some point, her thoughts are interrupted by Jughead’s return as she quickly tries to dry her eyes. 

“How are you managing up here? Still on course?” he asks, his hair adorably disheveled and voice rough from sleep. 

“I believe so,” she says. 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently as he approaches. 

“I’ll be fine. Just, you know, thinking about King’s Landing and everything,” she explains. 

“I’m so sorry, m’lady. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you,” he says as he draws closer to her. 

“I’ll be okay. I’m just… I need to channel my agony. I need to use that to drive me, you know? I’ll allow myself this last day to feel sorry for myself. But, starting tomorrow there will be no more tears, I promise you,” she tells him. 

“You’re allowed to grieve what you’ve lost,” he says, putting a hand on her good shoulder. She looks up into his piercing eyes. “I admire your conviction and I know that you’ll accomplish all that you set out to do. But, grief that is ignored will fester and poison you. You may mourn the deaths of the ones you love as you avenge them. You don’t have to choose one or the other. Sadness is not weakness and your crying is of no bother to me.”

“Well, aren’t you wise?” she says with a smile. 

“I can assure you that I’m not. You mistake my prattle for wisdom, which I must say is most kind of you,” he tells her in response. 

She laughs and she’s glad he’s joined her, because his presence helps to lift the weight she feels just a bit. 

“So, do you care to tell me more about this escape plan you’ve concocted with Ser Thomas? Why did he choose you to be in on the plan? How do you know where we’re going? Do you know what we’ll find there?”

“You always ask so very many questions at once,” he says as he takes over at the wheel. “The plan from here is to take you to a remote island that is across the Summer Sea, a few days journey southwest of the Arbor.”

“If we know of this island, why isn’t it on any maps?” she interjects before he can continue. 

He sighs and pauses, as if gathering his thoughts. “Your family rules all of Westeros. They recognize that Essos is too large and diverse to be conquered, and are fine living beside the continent as no one there poses a threat to your power. Your people see the people of Essos as uncivilized and undesirable. Or, at least that’s how they justify not making an attempt to conquer them.”

He pauses again before continuing. “But, there is more than just sea to the west. And also to the south, I’m fairly sure. There are more lands and more people.”

“Then, why haven’t we explored these regions? Established trade?” she asks quickly. 

“It makes things easier for your family to keep the world small. These lands are far enough away that it would be difficult and expensive to establish trade. Making contact also puts Westeros at risk of invasion. The navy has an outpost at the island that I’m taking you to. It’s the closest port to Westeros and gives them a base from which to monitor both the Summer and Sunset Seas.”

“So, do these people know of Westeros, then?” she asks.

“The people of the island? Certainly, yes, with the navy coming and going. The mainland farther northwest? I’m not so sure. I would assume their queen is aware of your existence, but I think they are in a similar position of wanting to keep a safe distance.”

She nods, taking in the information. “Does the island have their own navy? Or army?”

“They have a leader who organizes men to protect the island and keep order. But, I wouldn’t consider them to be an army or navy,” he explains. 

“And what of this mainland? Have they any military power?” she asks.

“They do. Not nearly as powerful as yours, I must tell you. Which is why it is your navy that holds the island and not theirs.”

“Hm,” she says, nodding.

“I can see you plotting already, m’lady,” he says, smiling. “What are you thinking? March up to the capital and seize their army? Lead them across the sea to defeat the Claytons all by yourself?”

“Of course not,” she says seriously. “You’ll be there to help me.” She turns and gives him a bright smile. 

He laughs. “I’m afraid you are greatly overestimating my abilities, m’lady.”

“Oh, you’ll rise to the occasion, I’m sure,” she tells him.

“I am humbled by your confidence,” he says in jest, bringing a hand to his heart.

“I’ll admit you weren’t my first choice to be Hand of the Queen, but it turns out you’re the best of my options, so here we are,” she tells him. 

“Well, look at me. I’ve been promoted from lowly guard to Hand of the Queen in the matter of a day. I must be the first of the smallfolk to be appointed to the most powerful position in the realm,” he says with a laugh. 

“You’re right, that won’t do,” she says, looking him over thoughtfully. “Bring me your sword.”

He suddenly grows serious. “What?”

“Your sword?” she asks again. “Is it down in the cabin?”

“Yes, it is,” he tells her, looking confused. 

She goes down to retrieve it and brings it back up with her. 

“Kneel,” she commands. 

He tilts his head, looking at her skeptically. “M’lady…”

“Kneel,” she repeats with conviction. 

He complies, looking up at her warily. 

“What is your family name?” she aks.

“Jones,” he tells her. 

She taps his sword to alternating shoulders as she repeats the centuries old words-

“Jughead Jones, In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Jughead Jones, I declare you a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

He stares up at her without saying a word. 

“Would you like to pledge your fealty to me, Ser Jughead?” she asks. Being a sworn sword to the Queen herself is one of the highest ranks a knight could hope for. 

“It would be my greatest honor,” he tells her quietly. 

“You know what to say, do you not?” she asks. Most who have fought in battle would know the words by heart in hopes that this very moment would come. 

“I do,” he tells her before clearing his throat and saying, “I offer you my services, Queen Elizabeth. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New." He says it with such conviction, she believes every word to be true. 

She gives the formal response, “And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise.”

He stands and she hands him back his sword. 

“Your Highness, I don’t know what to say,” he tells her, shaking his head.

“Then say nothing. Your honor and bravery in rescuing me and saving me from certain death have more than qualified you for knighthood. You have earned it for yourself. It was not my doing, but your own,” she says honestly. It’s the least she can do for him, given the circumstances.

“My Queen, I promise to always protect and defend you with honor. I shall live the rest of my days humbly in your service.”

He’s looking into her eyes with such intensity, she’s suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss him. It’s not something she’s ever experienced before, not even when visiting Lord Archibald, who her mother heavily implied that she’d one day be married off to. 

But, she can’t act on such a feeling. It would only bring them both pain and heartache when it comes time for her to marry for the sake of strengthening alliances. He may not even be interested in her, anyway, and she’d make an absolute fool of herself by throwing herself at him. 

“I appreciate your loyalty, Ser Jughead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll rest in the cabin for a bit,” she says, trying to escape before she does something rash.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumble with me @bugheadsextape


End file.
